5 years later

I know that yesterday, throughout the day, I would look at the clock several times and think:

this time five years ago, I was laying on the ultrasound table, Anna and Noah in the room, when the tech typed out “no cardiac movement.”

this time five years ago, I was driving home knowing I’d have to head to the hospital soon to be induced to deliver my babies who were no longer alive.

this time five years ago, I was eating a sandwich. Because my doctor told me to eat a sandwich before heading to the hospital. I ate a few bites. I can’t believe I ate at all.

this time five years ago, my doctor came into my hospital room, it was the first time I had seen her since receiving the news, she said “I’m so sorry.” and I looked at her, my heart pleading with her to tell me that someone was wrong, I said “what if you’re wrong? What if they come out and they’re still alive and then they can’t survive because they’re too young?” She replied by bringing an ultrasound machine into my room, showing me the lack of movement. The lack of life. For the second time that day, my own life felt like it had ended.

and right now, at this very moment five years ago…

I was sitting in a chair, still waiting for labor to start. My priest came into my room, maybe to give last rites? I know he prayed for the babies and our hearts and I know I appreciated his words but they weren’t soaking in at all, they just floated out of his mouth and landed on my skin. I felt something deep within me, a pain, a cramp…a contraction. I sat and listened and responded when I needed to but for a few moments I was the only one in the room who knew that labor had begun. He left and I let everyone know. It came on strong, fast, hard and lasted a long time.

Since I only had c-sections, this pain wasn’t a familiar feeling to me. I can remember the intensity of the pain and the knowledge that once one contraction ended, the relief would be brief. I remember my OB offering me pain medication, I declined it. I was so focused on spending this time on my boys knowing that in all of my life this experience was all I had with them, I wanted to feel it, no matter how painful it was. I miss that pain so much.

And the pain that I feel in my heart today, five years later, I hate it and I wish it didn’t exist, I wish I had just dropped them off at preschool, can you imagine? Those sweet twins walking into preschool together? My heart misses that dream so much. Everyday I get through it, my mind moves to other thoughts, another stress…but today, it consumes me, every inch of me. This pain I feel in my heart today is mine FOR them and it will remain there forever and I take it and I love it because somehow it’s theirs. It’s ours. Intertwined together.

My doctor came in later that evening. She broke my bags of water…they were in my arms shortly thereafter. And then we slept, the four of us, in a cold, quiet, dark, solemn room. Or maybe it was a warm room but their bodies were so cold. My heart broke that as their Mom I couldn’t make them warmer, no matter how hard I tried. The sun began to rise and I knew they’d have to physically leave me soon. But emotionally, mentally, they are forever with me. I’m so grateful for that.

I hope and pray that if they know anything right now, I hope they know how loved they are. How much we miss them. How we continue to grieve but also how we continue to LIVE for them, to live the best life we can…because we can. They’ve taught us so much and that will never, ever change.

Beth,
I rarely write comments on blogs but somehow I pressed comment today…because I was so moved by your words. This was beautiful. Thank you for sharing your boys with us. I will be thinking of them and of you guys today. They are dancing around looking down on you, sending you love.

(I have been following since before Eli was born and wanted to let you know how much I love your blog. Thank you for sharing your heart with me. You inspire me to pluck the day and live in the moment. Thank you)

Beautifully written – heartrending and poignant. I remember it like it was yesterday and although the memory is just as painful, I love that your tribute to them is to LIVE for them and to live the best life you can. They weren’t here long but they made the world a better place for having been here. The ripple effect of a few people living better is boundless and amazing.

I have been following you since for almost 5 years now. When I lost my baby at 16 weeks, my cousin turned me on to your blog and said “I know someone else who also just lost their babies. Maybe you can find comfort in her blog.” And I have. I used to devour your words daily, grasping for someone who also knew that gut-punching horror. Five years later, we both have two additional children now. The pain is different now, distant in some ways and still just as palpable in other ways…like when I watch my baby girl (born within days of Clara) smile and wonder dear god, what would that baby’s smile have looked like.

This is a beautiful post and once again, you continue to take the words out of my heart and mouth and put them on paper. Reading your blog is sometimes a very eerie experience for me. You write it so well. Because really, there are no words. But you find ones that I can read and say…yeah, i know.

I check in every so often now and continue to find comfort in your words. I continue to think about you and wish you peace and healing and joy. I am saddened to hear of your divorce. I can tell you that our “late misacarriage” was a turning point in our marriage and we’ve never been the same since. How could you be?

I wish you all good things, and I have such admiration for your positive energy and ability to grieve and explore the pain. You’re an inspiration. Keep writing.

Hi Beth, I am a very long time reader, never commenter. But today I have to let you know that you and your sweet baby boys are loved by so many of us. Five years ago, I bought a set of little bird candle holders in honor of your twins and they still sit on my desk today. I look at them every day. Sometimes when I see them I pray for you, sometimes I wonder what could have been for you, and always I am reminded to embrace this life and to be thankful for all that it has to offer. Thank you for sharing your life with us. You are loved and held in so many hearts today.

Hi Beth, I haven’t stopped in quite awhile, but was drawn here today. When I got here I realized why. I wish I had words for you and your family. Just know that I continue to keep you all in my thoughts and prayers. I read a few posts down also. I’m so sorry that you and Brian are going through a difficult time. It seems like you are both handling it the best you can. I have faith that you will continue to keep the children’s well being in the for front of everything you do. You both love them so. Stay strong.
Tracy

When you signed Eli up for preschool, I realized then that James and Jake would have been in preschool now. I love that your message is hope and love. Those sweet little boys taught many of us about love, me included. They know they are loved always. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Beth- I cannot believe it has been five years. My heart has been sealed to your since then. I would not wish that pain in anyone but I know that through you we are all deeper people. Thank you for sharing your pain and loss so that we may all know to count the littlest moments in life and be thankful for them.

I sit here at my laptop, now really knowing what to say except that I am so sorry you have to endure this pain, and that you have to wait to meet your boys again and that they are not with you now. Much love to you, Beth, on this most difficult of days and always…

Thinking of you, Beth. We lost our daughter 5 years ago on Feb 14th. I understand your pain, although each situation is so different. Saying a prayer tonight for your comfort and peace. I know you miss them.